


The Charleston Case

by coppersunshine



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Charleston, Dancing, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26721265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coppersunshine/pseuds/coppersunshine
Summary: Jack was just finishing his first cup of tea when Miss Fisher stormed through the door. “Hello Jack!”“Good day, Miss Fisher. May I ask what you think necessitated dragging me away from my duties to sit in your parlor for the last twenty minutes?”Phryne flopped onto the settee next to Jack. “Have you really been here that long? I do apologize, Jack. Do you know how to Charleston, by any chance?”
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	The Charleston Case

**Author's Note:**

> Another old piece I don't even remember writing! Dance fics are my bread and butter though, so no surprise there. Jack's rather grumpier in this than I would normally see him, I expect it's set rather early in the series when he's still being stodgy.

Jack Robinson walked up the stairs to Miss Fisher’s residence and rang the bell. Mr. Butler opened the door promptly, showing Jack into the parlor. “Miss Fisher is not home at the moment, but she is expected shortly. Shall I make you some tea, sir?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Butler. Tea would be lovely.”

“Very good, sir”

It was exactly like Miss Fisher to demand his presence and then not be present herself. He was on time, punctual as always—early, in fact. She had called the station earlier, giving him a few vague details about some case or another she was working on and instructing him to be at her home at three. It was now precisely 2:55 and the prospect of waiting did not please him (for Jack knew that Miss Fisher’s sense of punctuality meant arriving quarter past schedule), despite curiosity about whatever case Miss Fisher had drummed up this time. It wasn’t a murder, of course, or he would know about it, but the station had been quiet lately and some diversion would not be unwelcome—though he would never let her know that.

Jack was just finishing his first cup of tea when Miss Fisher stormed through the door. “Hello Jack!”

“Good day, Miss Fisher. May I ask what you think necessitated dragging me away from my duties to sit in your parlor for the last twenty minutes?”

Phryne flopped onto the settee next to Jack. “Have you really been here that long? I do apologize, Jack. Do you know how to Charleston, by any chance?”

The question took him aback. “I…uh…must confess that I do not.”

“Well then, I guess you’ll just have to learn.” She leapt up. “Watch my footwork.”

“Now, Miss Fisher?”

“Why not?”

Jack stood up, unable to resist Miss Fisher’s enthusiasm, though he carefully arranged his features to hide his interest.

“The basic step is really quite simple. You just trace two half circles on the floor, like this, see. The right foot touches in front and then in back, and then the left foot touches in the back and returns to the front. Now, your turn!”

Jack followed as she explained, feeling really rather silly. “Like this?”

Phryne beamed. “Yes, very good! Now all you have to do is add the flutters, like this, see! You just turn your heels inward as you step and then outward again.”

Jack dutifully attempted this, and failed as miserably as all those learning Charleston inevitably do.

“Miss Fisher, I do not believe that my feet were intended to move in such a manner.”

She laughed at him, of course. “Oh, please, Jack. It just takes some practice is all.”

“And why exactly did you want me to know Charleston?”

“Oh, we’re going to go dancing on Friday,” she answered airily.

“Dancing, Miss Fisher?”

She huffed at him. “Why, yes, of course, Jack. You and I both know that it’s been frightfully dull around here lately.”

“And you think dancing is the answer?”

“Dancing cures near all ills, Jack, and boredom it cures best of all.”

He lifted an eyebrow. It seemed she was not going to be forthcoming with details about the case.

“As you insist, Miss Fisher.”

A half hour and many failed attempts later, Jack Robinson was master of a passable Charleston. Phryne was ecstatic. “Very good, Jack! Now, with music, perhaps?”

She looked at him and he sighed. “Very well, Miss Fisher.” She selected a record for the Victrola, and an infectious melody began. Miss Fisher began dancing wildly, her feet moving in ways he could scarcely comprehend let alone hope to emulate, and then she turned to him.

“Come on, Jack! Dance with me!”

“Miss Fisher, I can hardly keep track of my own feet. What makes you think I can manage two sets?”

She laughed. “You’re a very capable man, Jack Robinson.” She grasped his hands, placing one just above the small of her back and keeping the other clasped in her own, then counted them off. His dancing was not improved any by the warmth of her in his arms and her ribs moving against his hand through her silk blouse, but soon enough the music caught them and his lack of skill no longer mattered so long as the music commanded them.

When the song stopped Jack caught his breath (which took far more effort than he would have liked—and he noted Phryne had hardly exerted herself) and then managed to speak. “How, exactly, Miss Fisher, does this relate to your case?”

“A case? Jack, what case?”

“Miss Fisher, on the telephone, you distinctly said, ‘I need you for a case.’”

Phyrne grinned mischeviously. “Oh yes! An absolutely dire case of boredom.”

Jack sighed once again, and, despite himself, had to smile.


End file.
